


Watercolor Waves

by chaostheoryy



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Can be shippy or not it's up to you, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Idk man I just love them, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Ryan struggles with his emotions, Shane can paint like a fucking pro, artist!shane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 01:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20035387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaostheoryy/pseuds/chaostheoryy
Summary: Ryan's taken completely by surprise when he discovers Shane's secret hobby: painting.





	Watercolor Waves

**Author's Note:**

> For years, I have exercised a lot of self-control in keeping myself from writing RPF content, but the Ghoul Boys have really gotten to me over the past few weeks. So, I caved. Here's my first ever Unsolved piece... Enjoy.

“You _paint_?”

Shane furrows his brow. “Yeah. Why are you so surprised? Weren’t you the one who assigned my Sim the ‘Creative’ trait when we played with Kelsey?”

“Well, yeah. But I meant creative in the psychotic ‘I made a narrative about hot dogs’ kind of way,” Ryan replies frankly, “Not because I thought you were Pablo fucking Picasso.”

“Hey. Don’t call me Picasso. That dude can’t paint for shit.” A sly smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I like to consider myself more of a Magritte.”

“You get a kick out of painting dudes with apples for faces?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Ryan shrugs a little and crosses his arms. “I’m a Hokusai kind of guy myself,” he remarks.

Shane laughs — one of those squinty-eyed laughs that’s just as contagious as a yawn. “So I’ve heard.” He leans back in his chair and adjusts his glasses. “It’s making _great waves_ across the Internet.”

It takes a lot of power for Ryan to keep from slapping himself in the forehead in response to Shane’s pun. “Real nice,” Ryan says sarcastically, “You been holding on to that one for a while?”

“Listen, Ryan, there is one thing you gotta know about me. And that is that I will hang on to a joke for _years_ if it means I get to watch you cringe.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

Still smiling, Shane turns back to the painting in front of him and continues his work. His strokes are precise, the speed of the brush against the canvas slow but steady as he adds another eery branch to a tree.

“As surprised as I am by the fact that you can actually make a decent piece of art, I’m not at all shocked that you’re painting a creepy ass forest,” Ryan comments as peers over Shane’s shoulder. “What is this place anyway? Your house?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Shane finishes the uncomfortably limb-like root near the stream at the center of the painting. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize it.”

“Should I?”

Shane leans to the side of the canvas to dab his brush in a pool of paint on his pallet. “Take another look. See anything familiar?”

Ryan narrows his eyes and scans the landscape in front of him. “I mean, it just looks like a terrifying hellscape in the woods to me. Nothing really…” He pauses as he spots a vaguely familiar cavern near the bottom corner of the canvas. “Wait a second. Is that the cave that I almost climbed in when we went searching for Bigfoot?”

“Ah, so your eyes can see!”

“Shut up. Am I right or not?”

“Yeah, you got it,” Shane answers softly as he starts painting again, “I know you really want ghosts to be real—“

“Ghosts _are_ real.”

“—But I gotta say it would be so much cooler if we became famous for being the idiots who discovered the Foot.”

“We did discover Bigfoot,” Ryan replies casually, “He’s sitting right in front of me, painting a fucking landscape.”

Shane pulls away from the canvas and throws up his hands like a criminal caught red-handed by the cops. “Uh oh! Spotted! Quick, Ryan, get the camera. We gotta get this on tape.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and reaches out to lower Shane’s arms. “Quit fucking around and do your stupid art.”

Shane flashes him one of those crooked smiles before he turns back to his work.

“So what is this, like a form of catharsis or something?” Ryan asks as he watches Shane.

“It’s a hobby, Ryan. You should probably get one that doesn’t involve investigating old murder cases and hunting non-existent supernatural beings.”

“What if I start cross-stitching? I could make little signs to put all over the office that say ’Shane Madej is an asshole’.”

Shane doesn’t even pry his eyes from the canvas to address him. “You’re a real criminal mastermind. Ricky Goldsworth would be so proud of you.”

“Don’t throw his name around like that or he might make an appearance.”

“You’re right. Probably shouldn’t go stoking that fire.” He pauses, looking through the collection of brushes he’d set on the table beside him. “Where’d I put my Filberts?”

“Your _who_?”

“Filbert. It’s a type of brush.” He adjusts his glasses with his free hand as he continues to rummage through his assortment of brushes and paints. “Would you do me a favor and go into the closet to grab the rest of my supplies?”

“Sure.”

Ryan heads to the corner of Shane’s living room and pries open the closet door. Sure enough, sitting on one of the shelfs is a ceramic jar full of paintbrushes and miscellaneous art tools. He reaches in to grab the jar when he notices a pile of watercolor papers, all of which are flipped upside down to keep their content concealed. Curious as to what kind of bizarre things Shane would paint, he flips the top one over. To his surprise, rather than unearthing a haunting image of long-limbed trees or a rickety house, he finds himself staring at an incredibly stunning portrait of himself.

Ryan blinks, completely taken back by the discovery. The mix of oranges and reds on the paper are awe-inspiring and undeniably remind him of a sunset on one of southern California’s impossibly cloudless days. But even more impressive than the colors is the sheer detail of the portrait. The little smile-lines on his cheeks, the wrinkles around his eyes and the strands of hair that hang over his forehead are so specific and so accurate that Ryan can’t help but feel like he’s looking at a reflection of himself.

“Any day now, buddy,” Shane calls out, “Keep standing in my closet and I’m going to think you’re a monster looking to harvest my screams for energy.”

Ryan places the portrait back in the pile and fumbles with the jar for a moment before returning to Shane’s makeshift studio on the other side of the room. “Here.”

“Much obliged,” Shane says in a shoddy southern accent as he takes the jar. “What do you think? Should I add a little Foot peeking out from around one of the trees or is that a little too on-the-nose?”

Ryan shrugs. “Why don’t you put me in there somewhere?”

“What, like being chased out of the cave by a bunch of bats? You do have a history with ass-bats.”

“I don’t know, man. You’re the fucking artist, not me.”

Shane scans his canvas for a moment. “It would be kind of fun, but your bug-eyes would take up a lot of real estate.”

Ryan gently slaps Shane in the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Shut the fuck up, Shane.”

Shane laughs and Ryan feels his stomach tighten slightly as he watches Shane drag his brush across the canvas again. He can’t stop thinking about the portrait in the closet, about the sheer detail an unabashed softness of it. It’s almost…_romantic_.

“Are you saying that I’m too difficult to paint?” Ryan asks. It’s a straight-forward question, not an obvious sign of prying.

“I never said that.”

“So, theoretically, you _could_ paint a picture of me.”

Shane’s brush slows to a stop.

_Oh, shit_. Ryan’s said too much.

Shane turns in his chair to look at him. “You saw the portrait in the closet, didn’t you?”

Ryan tries to play it cool, shrugging and thrusting his hands in his pockets. “I mean, yeah. I _saw_ it. Didn’t really get a good look at it or anything.”

Shane just stares at him, his eyes seeming to peer right through his tough-guy facade. “You’re weirded out by it.”

“I’m not weirded out,” Ryan replies, “I’m just—“ He hesitates. “—Curious. I guess.”

Shane crosses his legs and leans back slightly. “Curious how?”

Oh, Jesus, he’s being interrogated now. “I don’t know!” He sounds a little more defensive than he intended but he can’t seem to reign it in. “I just found out you're a goddamn painter and 10 minutes later, I find out you’ve got a portrait of me hidden in your closet. I’m just trying to process things here!”

The expression on Shane’s face is difficult to gauge. It’s skillfully unreadable and, frankly, Ryan hates it. He needs a reaction, something to tell him what in God’s name Shane is thinking.

Finally, Shane takes a deep breath. “Go look at them.”

“What?”

“The watercolors in the closet.” Shane answers pointedly, “Go look at them.”

Ryan hesitates to move, looking at Shane in the hopes of receiving further explanation. But Shane doesn’t say anything more. So, Ryan does as he is instructed and returns to the closet. After a final glance over his shoulder at Shane, Ryan grabs the pile and turns it over.

He honestly didn’t know what he had been expecting. All he knows is he’s just as surprised to find the pile contains even more paintings of him as he was when he discovered the initial piece.

“_Jesus Christ_,” he whispers to himself as he peruses the dozen or so pictures in his hand.

Just like the first, each piece is painstakingly detailed and undeniably beautiful. They all range in colors, some containing warm schemes of reds and oranges while others glisten in waves of blues and greens.

Ryan’s hands start to shake slightly. The emotions that Shane has captured in every single piece is so strong, so tangible that Ryan can actually feel them. Looking down at himself, at these perfectly captured moments of his life, he realizes exactly why he’s trembling: Shane truly _sees_ him. Shane knows him so goddamn well that he can bring him to life with the same level of ease that he feels when he lies down at the end of a long day.

The softest smile tugs at the corner of Ryan’s mouth as he looks at one of the portraits. It’s one of the brightest of them all: a golden three-quarter profile of him smiling upward. Ryan knows that look in his eye —he’s seen it every goddamn time he works on an Unsolved video— and knows for a fact that this is what he looks like when he’s gazing up at Shane.

Realizing his eyes have started to water, he blinks and rubs them with the back of his hand.

“I’m going to be pretty disappointed if you ruin those by crying all over ‘em.”

“Jesus-!” Ryan jumps and looks left to find Shane standing directly behind him. “Would you stop sneaking up behind me all the time?”

“I literally tripped as I walked over here.”

Ryan lets out a breathy laugh and sniffles, trying his best to stifle the tears that linger in his eyes. “You’re like a baby giraffe with your stupid lanky legs.”

There’s a moment of silence as they stand beside one another, Ryan still gazing at the portrait in his hands.

“Well, what do you think?” Shane asks quietly.

Ryan takes a steadying breath. “They’re good.” He blinks. “Really fucking good.”

“Any pauper with a sense of taste knows that.”

Ryan scoffs.

“I meant how do you feel about me painting them,” Shane says. “You’re over here crying in my closet like a crazy person and, frankly, I can’t tell if it’s because you think I’m a stalker or because you actually like them.”

“I don’t think you’re a stalker,” Ryan replies honestly, throwing Shane a look.

“So, you like them.”

Ryan turns his attention back to the artwork in front of him. Without any hesitation, he nods. “Yeah, I do.” He smiles slightly. “I like ‘em a lot.”

Shane places a hand on his shoulder. It’s certainly not the first time Ryan’s ever been touched by Shane, but there’s no doubt in his mind that this touch means something new. There’s reassurance in the touch, acknowledgement that they’re unlocking new doors in each other’s lives. The warmth Ryan feels is immeasurable and, frankly, he hopes he never loses it.

“If you think these are great,” Shane suddenly exclaims with childish excitement, “You’re going to go nuts when you see my Hot Daga pieces!”

Ryan groans and closes his eyes. “Oh God, Shane, please don’t—“

“What? Are you telling me you’re not a supportive friend who’s excited to see my other works of art?” Shane teases, cocking his brow.

How Ryan keeps finding himself in this hot dog hell hole, he’ll never quite understand. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumbs. “Alright, fine,” he caves, “Let’s see them.”

Shane’s grin is so bright it lights up the entire apartment.

Ryan raises his index finger and gently pokes Shane in the chest. “But you owe me a fucking beer for this.”

Shane wraps his hand around Ryan’s finger and shakes it. “Deal.”

With a wink and a clap on Ryan’s shoulder, Shane hustles off toward his bedroom to fetch his paintings.

“God fucking dammit. What did I just get myself into…” Ryan sighs and looks back down at the portraits in his hand. He smiles.


End file.
